Page 2 of A Brat's Tale
I stifled a groan as I placed my hands at the small of my back, and he held them in place. I felt all of five years old—good job, Arcade—but I knew better than to complain out loud. I earned this spanking, subconsciously or not.
He began with his hand. Anyone who says bare-handed spankingis nothing hasneverbeen spanked by my husband. I was bleating like a lamb in less than two minutes. “I’m sorry, Arcade! I’ll behave proper next time!”
“You will, sweetheart.”
“Please. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I’m sure you have, but you have not paid the penalty.”
“But ithurts!”
“It’s meant to.”
No amount of crying or pleading stopped him. I suppose that’s why I trust him the way I do. That’s part of it too. Trusting him to do what’s best for me despite what I want in the moment, because no submissive or brat wants a spanking in the moment. If he had stopped because I’d begged him to, it would break the chain; it would be hard to trust him to catch me when I needed him to. It’s important he knows I trust him to know to stop when it’s time to stop, but also never stoppingbeforethat point.
Tears streamed down my face, and I reached a point of clarity. Spanking is the physical manifestation of my emotions and in those moments over Arcade’s lap, I reached the true reason for my disobedience. He knew. Healwaysknew, and that was bloody annoying sometimes. “Having any epiphanies down there?” he said as he took up the Godsforsaken brush.
“Yes, sir. I am. Please don’t use the brush. I can tell you in detail.”
My pleading did not deter him. Arcade took to each of my sore cheeks with his evil, wooden paddle, disguised as an instrument of vanity.
“Do enlighten me,” he punctuated with more of the same.
I kicked my limbs as the tingling turned into a throbbing ache. “By the love of the Gods, Arcade. Allow me to—owww—speak!”
“You’re telling me that a man of battle as you are—my second in fact—cannot take a child’s chastisement while speaking? I don’t believe it,” he continued.
“I didn’t—ooowch!—come to y-oou, because I really didn’t want a spanking.”
“Yet here you are, getting one.”
Snot was running down my face by this point, and I couldn’t wipe it away, since my hands were secured at my back within Arcade’s grasp. “Yes,” I panted, and finally Arcade let up, giving me a break. I knew it wasn’t over, so I took the opportunity to get more words in that wouldn’t be interrupted by cries. “I don’t like that Ineedto be spanked.”
He rubbed over my sore flesh, sending good tingles to my cock, and I couldn’t help my arousal. Not that I was going to get any sexual relief during a punishment, but I couldn’t help my body’s reactions. “It’s who you are, angel.”
He proceeded to spank me with his blasted brush until my voice was hoarse. When he was finally finished, I was done holding back any feelings I might have and was ready to talk. But of course, he saved the talking about the feelings part, helping me stand and directing me to the wall instead.
“I want you to think about any conclusions you have come to, and while you do, you are to hold up your shirt, so I can see your naughty, spanked bottom. Is that understood?”
My face heated and my damn cock responded in kind, hardening like a rock.Don’t get too excited,it’s not like you’re about to get any rewards.“Yes, sir.”
Now, I suppose, we’re going to talk about the conclusions I’ve come to at the wall. He waits for me to speak. “Tristan is going to be like me, and it’s all my fault. I should stay away from him, but I can’t. I’m too selfish, and I love him too much.”
He’s quiet for several heartbeats. “Tristanislike you,” he says. “But not because you made him that way. It’s something you’re born with, Eagar. Tristan has been the way he is since birth.”
I shake my head. “He sees too much, even if he doesn’t know what he’s seeing. He’s started to ask questions. I don’t want this for him, Arcade; needing someone to decide what’s best for him because he’s too pathetic to do it for himself.”
“Are you calling our son pathetic?” He quirks a brow.
“No. Arcadelistento me. Our son is going to have the same dysfunction I have, but he is made from your and Olivia’s genes, notmine. He could only have gotten it from spending so much time with me—learning to behave as I do. I’m not good for him.”
Arcade sighs long and heavy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where do I begin with all of that?”
“It’s simple. Just—”
“—do you make the decisions, Eagar?” he cuts me off.
“No, sir.” I shake my head.
